


Presents

by alexxir



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blindfolds, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Shibari, claude "i'm the present" von riegan, in the best way, these two are completely smitten with each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 10:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23849377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxir/pseuds/alexxir
Summary: “Did you miss me?”“Does a wyvern miss the night skies?”Her chuckle is warm and light. “Poetic.”“I try.”-x-x-x-Byleth returns home to find a wrapped gift. The gift is Claude, specifically.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 116
Collections: The Golden Gifts - Claudeleth Fic/Art Exchange





	Presents

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the claudeleth exchange week! Thanks to Mitz for the amazing prompts. Go send them all the love over at their SFW twitter [here](https://twitter.com/mitzoco)!

_Finally_.

It’s been 22 days, 16 hours. Not that he's been counting. 

Fodlan _adores_ her. As Almyra’s official ambassador, diplomatic trips are a common and regular occurrence for Byleth, and discussions always work best when one of their own comes to facilitate them.

That doesn’t stop him from missing her all the same.

22 days, 17 hours. He tries not to move around too much. 

A messenger had arrived at the crack of dawn with a sealer letter for the Shahanshah. He’d opened it a little too enthusiastically. The letter was of course from her - the short, succinct sentences, the handwriting that was more scrawl than legible letters. That sweet, sweet phrase - “ _I’ll return soon. If all is timed well, this letter should shortly proceed my arrival_.”

22 days, 18 hours. He’s growing weary. Being bound up and confided to his royal chambers with little else to do but daydream really tires out a man. His eyelids droop, breathing slowed and steady.

Stars, it’s been too long. Earlier, when he had safely tucked away her letter, requests were dished out to his house staff left and right. He couldn’t have _all_ his duties suspended - those sort of luxuries didn’t exist for a king - but he could ensure that at least, come nightfall, the palace, his chambers and of course, himself, would be ready to welcome her.

So here he waits, sitting upright against the bedhead, sheets snuggled around him and wrapped up like a pretty gift underneath. Bless the discretion of Byleth’s chambermaid. The poor soul’s blush was only slight while fastening the ropes around him. He’d made sure to tip her _most generously_ for her service.

22 days, 18 and a half hours. He’s fallen asleep.

22 days, 19 hours. A gentle brush of his hair stirs him awake. He’s always been a light sleeper.

“Good evening.”

He grins despite himself, eyes still closed. “Evenin’”.

Byleth's hand caresses his jaw. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No trouble at all.”

He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know she’s smiling, but he does anyway. It’s always a treat.

“Miss me?”

“‘Course.”

It’s only then that Byleth sees the barest hint of twine peeking out from under the sheets. Her eyes go doe-wide.

Claude can’t help himself. “Got a gift for you.”

“For me?”

He nods. “Care to take a look?”

Her pupils dilate, the smallest of grins ghosting her lips. “In a moment.”

She leaves his side then, straightening up and wrinkling her nose. “I smell like travel. Let me get clean.” Her hand brushes down the side of his frame, feeling him through the sheets, the twine underneath snagging ever so slightly under her touch. “I’ll be back soon.”

22 days, 19 and a half hours. She’s taking her time. He’d expected no less; Byleth wasn’t one to hurry. Methodical and patient, she'd make sure every inch of herself was scrubbed vigorously clean and completely free of muck. 

He allows himself to daydream. He thinks about her lingering touch. Byleth was very pleased to see he'd gone the extra mile in presentability, and her reaction has left him a little giddy. 

The journey from Fodlan's Throat to the Almyran capital is not an easy one. He was no fool to doubt his efforts were a gamble. The risk that she would have felt too tired to do anything other than rest was _very_ real. If she had shown even the slightest tinge of guilt, he would’ve asked her to untie him then and there and that would've been the end of it.

Soft footsteps break through his thoughts. He cracks an eye open, watches her approach. She's wearing a flimsy excuse for a satin night robe and nothing else. 

“And she returns!" 

Her eyes narrow, lips pulling tight. “Thank you for your patience." 

She bends down beside the bed, rummaging, and slides out a ornately-carved porcelain chest. Various _clinks_ and _thumps_ echo across their chambers, and a beat later he hears the _click-clack_ of a lock sealed shut. She lifts up a velvet-red band with a thin black tie looped around it. Her eyebrows raise questioningly. Claude grins. 

"Don't suppose you'd put that thing on me yourself? I'd help, but." He jiggles a little, drawing attention to his restraints. "Can't spare a hand."

She sighs in mock exasperation, but complies anyway. As she leans in to place the blindfold, Claude takes in a long, deep inhale, picking up the waft of vanilla soap and the undertones of a rich, earthy pine. Cheeky. Byleth had borrowed his cologne. He faintly wonders if she did so out of a longing nostalgia for his scent, and his heart pangs at the thought. 

"Are you well?" Byleth's head tilts to one side. He smiles back, eyes crinkling. 

"Yeah, of course."

"Good," she says, gently pecking him on the cheek. "Now stay still." 

The irony of that is not lost on him. 

The satin slips down his forehead and his vision goes suddenly dark. He takes in more deep, steadying breaths as she ties the band snug and flush around him. She's slipping her fingers through his hair now and coaxing him to relax. His own fingers twitch sympathetically. 

"I'm going to move you." Not a question. He nods to show he understands. 

She's always been strong enough to lift him with little effort. The blanket is tossed aside and he's hoisted into the air suddenly, cradling him against her chest. It's as thrilling as it is homely. 

He finds himself lowered carefully back down. His back hits the mattress, and his legs waddle against the ropes a little uselessly until Byleth guides a hand for him to rest against the bed's edge. She's patient. She waits until he adjusts, feet planted on the floor, head burying back into the pillows she's prepped for him. 

“Comfortable?”

“Very.”

Her hands leave him. He’s left alone for seconds that feel like minutes.

“By?” He doesn't intend for it to sound so fragile.

“I’m here.”

The words are breathy and whispered by his ear. He shudders.

A wandering hand creeps down his chest. Fingers snag occasionally against the ropes, causing him to shift involuntarily. Further and further her touch travels, at a snail’s pace, testing his sensitivity in a delicious tease. Her nails drag across his skin and he whines behind closed lips.

“Did you miss me?”

“Does a wyvern miss the night skies?”

Her chuckle is warm and light. “Poetic.”

“I try.”

She’s blowing a gentle trail of kisses against his stomach. Barely there, and too much. The nails against his hips dig in tighter, causing him to thrash lightly against the binds.

“Have you been thinking about this?” 

When Claude nods, he’s met with a disapproving _tut_.

“Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”

The softest of chuckles leave him. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Perhaps.” Her grip is knucke-white. “I want to hear it, all the same.”

He draws in a deep breath.

“I’ve missed you, By. The palace halls feel empty without you."

Momentarily stunned, her grip goes slack. Her hands opt instead to rub soothing motions across his hips and his lower stomach. His voice falters, but only slightly. 

"We both know the work you do is important. But despite myself, I can't help but be selfish."

A soft, fond little hum escapes Byleth. She's plotting something. He can sense it. 

"I'd travel with you if I could. Just like the good ol times. We could take Nagi with us, she'd - _hah_!" 

Byleth's fingers wrap around his cock, startling him from his thoughts. Her strokes are minute and feather-light. 

"She'd, hah, love the free- _eee_ -dom, the old darl, _hnnn_."

Claude has never considered speech difficult. Trust Byleth to be the one to challenge that assumption.

Byleth hums questioningly, egging him on. 

"We c-could stop by the springs, the ones just - _aaaahhh_ , close to the border, and-!" 

His spine arches up as her strokes quicken.

"Stars, _please_ , like that - !" 

Fingers suddenly press insistently on his lips. He obliges, opening his mouth ever slightly so she can slip right in. He's rewarded with a satisfied growl. 

Byleth crooks her digits to press down on his tongue. He can take a hint. He sucks on them with reverence, stuttering on occasion to Byleth's other hand strokes.

It's easy like this, to fall into a trance. Mouth full, body on fire and twitching against the binds, Claude finds himself a willing captive. His mind goes as blank as his vision, the only thoughts that break through are more like pulses of need, desperate little _pleases_ and _ahs_ that he garbles out against her fingers. 

It's then she withdraws from him, the loss of touch like whiplash. His head snaps up, trying to chase her as he feels the air shift, Byleth evidently moving away. 

Eternity, or a few seconds, passes. Claude writhes. Patience is a virtue and a personal strength of his - just not in the bedroom. 

She reads his mind like she always does. "Easy now." Coaxing, like she would a wild wyvern. He colours at the thought. 

He feels movements on the sheets around him. Byleth's knees press up on either side of his waist. It doesn't take much to put two and two together that she's about to straddle him, and he swallows at the mental image.

A wet, soft heat envelops his groin. A moan is ripped from his throat and bubbles up from his lips, and his body responds in kind, grinding up against her. He hears Byleth chuckle. 

She presses one hand against his chest, the other on his hip. It's then she moves in tandem with him, slipping her wet folds around his heat. Tiny little thrusts at her own pace. 

He's coated in her arousal by the time she shifts to sit up. The hand that was previously on his hip slides up to grab at his length. It punches the breath from Claude, now completely at her mercy as she angles him to rub up against her entrance. 

In, and out, in fractions, _torturous_ little movements, letting just the head poke through and nothing else. His heart leaps from his chest hearing her fond, breathy groans, the twitch of her muscles, the way she dangles pleasure in front of him to chase it time and time again.

He's begging now, his voice breathless and punctured.

Byleth's own voice is as smooth as silk. "How much did you miss this?"

"Stars, so much, I've missed this so much, I've missed you so much." His answers come out garbled but they satisfy her all the same. 

When she sinks down on him, he lets out the faintest of choked sobs. He's deliciously overwhelmed. 

Byleth rides him with abandon. Her thighs hug his sides and keep her steady in a masterful display of strength. Hands braced on his chest, toes digging into the mattress, she lets gravity and her ass help her bounce up and down and back again. 

Each thrust is peppered with soft moans, music to his ears. With his vision gone, he clings to those sounds like a lifeline, a window into Byleth’s own pleasure. 

It’s sudden, then, when he comes with a startled cry. His back snaps up and arches against the ropes. He’s barely present to the sensation of Byleth slowing down, groaning, letting herself be filled completely. 

A hand strokes the side of his cheek. He leans into her touch.

His voice is grizzled when he speaks again. “Can - can you .. ?” He’s gesturing up with his nose. A soft hum of understanding, and her chest presses up into him to reach for the blindfold across his eyes. 

He blinks to adjust to the candlelit room. As his vision settles, he finds himself face to face with an absolutely beaming, flushed from head to toe, Byleth. 

"Hi."

"Hello," she responds in kind. Hands trail among the soft hair on his chest, soothing him through deep, heavy breaths. His eyes don't leave hers though. "Are you hurt?" 

"Not at all. You were perfect."

A slight blush crosses her cheeks. She bends down to nuzzle at his neck. Byleth, the Ashen Demon, famous for her stoic, steadfast tenacity, embarrassed. He chuckles. 

"Do you mind untying me now, O Perfect One?"

She slaps him softly on the shoulder. He probably deserves that. 

It takes a moment for them to want to come apart. Byleth lifts herself off him and groans, Claude failing to exhale a steady breath. She quickly clamps together her legs lest his semen leak and spoil their bed sheets.

Bending down over the side of the bed, she retrieves a cotton rag and starts to clean herself up. Claude watches on with lidded eyes, feeling himself awash with a peaceful sort of exhaustion. 

It doesn't take her long to return to his side, gently easing him up to a seated position to work on unraveling the binds. It's never a quick process, but Claude doesn't mind. 

Pale red welts on his skin are left behind as more and more of the twine falls limply around him. With every layer unwound, he relaxes more considerably into the mattress. Before he’s conscious of it, he’s humming a gentle tune to himself, and it takes Byleth a moment to recognise it as a calming Almyran lullaby. 

Completed unbound now and twine tossed aside, he flops onto Byleth's side with the loopiest of grins.

"Thank you,” he says, directly into Byleth's shoulder. She gives him a reassuring pat on his head. 

"You're welcome."

"Thank you," he repeats, kissing the side of her neck. He repeats it again, burying his nose into her collarbone, heedless to her chuckles. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

He continues to wax praises against skin, puncturing them with messy wet kisses. Byleth's arousal returns in kind and she not-so-subtly rubs her thighs together. Claude crawls eagerly on top. 

"Absolutely stunning. Incredibly talented." A kiss upon her stomach. "The very best." 

She can't help but giggle at him. Claude has a tendency to be a sappy, talkative sort in the aftermath of his orgasms, and tonight is no exception. Not that she's bothered in the slightest by it. He’s also a hopelessly exhausted type, and she tries not to goat him _too_ much as he stumbles reaching over for the extra sheet by the bed. 

"Are you ok?" she asks with a lazily smothered laugh.

Claude nods like his life depends on it. “‘Course. On a mission.” No matter how tired he becomes, he could never leave her unattended to. 

The sheet is unceremoniously thrown on top of her. She laughs at him again, but wriggles out from between the bed and his thighs to slip the rag underneath her. Still adjusting when he launches herself into a new round of kisses.

“It is my royal duty,” kiss, “after all, to provide,” a wet tongue trails down her stomach and she shivers, “a most excellent welcoming service for the Ambassador.”

He crawls down, inch by inch, holding her sides and rubbing his thumbs against her affectionately. Kissing the battle-harden scars, tonguing her soft, wispy stretch marks.

When he reaches her mound, his eyes flicker up to lock with hers. Looking for permission. She shakily exhales and nods at him.

Emboldened, he mouths her upper folds, licks a wanton stripe up to her clit, and she’s pressing down to chase that pleasure. Gods, she’s missed him. She’s missed him **_so_** much.

They fall into a comfortable rhythm. Years of experience has honed his skills in the ways he teases out twitches, moans, has her writhe against sheets and chanting those sweet little praises. He’s even unphased tasting the tiniest hint of himself. 

His tongue plays the gentlest of rhythms on her clit and he’s rewarded with a symphony of choked gasps. Mouth well and truly soaked now, he withdraws his face (ignoring the little whine that escapes Byleth) to crook two fingers up inside of her. She wails.

“That’s it, By. Stars, you’re gorgeous.” 

Claude adjusts his angle so his thumb can reach her clit while his fingers massage inside. She’s shaking now, thrusting down into his hand eagerly. 

The sudden desire to hold him tight overcomes her. She reaches for his shoulders and pulls him down on top of her breasts. 

“Oof” is the only sound he makes, but he adjusts, grinning wider than ever. 

She grasps his hair, shoulders, everywhere - her hands barely stay still in one place before they move on in a fervent, desperate attempt to feel every inch of him.

Claude senses her approaching climax. Her muscles tense and her breathing seizes up. 

He mouths at her neck. "Will you come for me?" 

She obliges him with a silent cry. Clenching impossibly tight, back raised and suspended, her vision spots out in the wake of her orgasm. A gush of thick liquid spills on Claude's fingers and his cock twitches sympathetically. 

Kisses on her chest, he gently pulls out his soaked, calloused hand. His other hand rubs her stomach to coax her back into the present. 

Through lidded eyes, she finally meets his gaze. 

"Thank you." Partially earnest, partially tongue in cheek at his own post orgasm sentimentality. He chuckles. 

"You're most welcome."

Her smile lasts for a second before her brain catches onto his exaggerated chivalry. She slaps him weakly against his back. 

"Clean me up." 

"As you wish," he says, making a point to sit up before graciously bowing into her breasts. Her laugh is breathless, winded from exhaustion, but honest all the same.


End file.
